


Unreachable

by bezitazita



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 05:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13264962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bezitazita/pseuds/bezitazita
Summary: It has been decades since their last meeting and he has never truly moved on from his first real love. When Viktor returns to the British Isles to lead a seminar for young Seekers, a run-in with Hermione makes him think that maybe she has been on his mind for a reason.





	1. Reaching England

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally posted on my fanfiction account nearly a decade ago and, given my resurgence of love for this pairing, is being reworked with new eyes. I am doing my best to keep things fairly canonical, but made a mistake in the first chapter back in 2008—Hannah works at the Leaky Cauldron, not at The Three Broomsticks. Thank you for your support!

_"You vill be meeting me in hall before ball?" He had asked her in his broken English. His fingers messed with the sleeve of his robe pulled down forcedly at his side, a nervous habit he frequently exuded._

_She smiled, just as nervous and excited as he felt, "Yes, of course. I'll be there. I'm so excited, Viktor. Thanks so much for asking me."_

_"It should be me thanking you, Hermy-own. You are beautiful girl, I am klutzy boy," He said as she giggled, waved, and carried her books hurriedly from the library._

\---

He hadn’t received a warm goodbye the last time he had seen her. As he recalled, there had been no goodbye at all due to the calamity of war bursting forward into Bill and Fleur’s wedding reception. For some reason, his thoughts centered around her as he ordered a third repair of vodka. He hadn’t seen her in over twenty years, but it seemed like it had been no time at all since he watched her waltz with another, a vision in lilac that remained in his memory after all this time. In his mind, she looked at him with the same girlish happiness that belonged to her on the night of the Yule Ball. Fire filled his stomach at the thought, but perhaps it was the vodka. Ivan, the barman, looked at the younger man’s profile as he stared off into nowhere, hand still on his full glass.

“Viktor, I am thinking that you may want to head home before the so-called man of steel succumbs to the seduction of the drink,” Ivan chuckled, snapping Viktor back into the small Bulgarian pub.

“No, no,” Viktor said, shaking his head. A few strands of dark hair fell before his spectacled eyes. “It’s not the drink… just reminiscing.”

“A girl, _nyet_?” Ivan pried as he unceremoniously dried a glass.

Viktor shook his head. “A woman. A woman from a very long time ago. I can’t even say what brought her to my mind tonight. I shouldn’t be wasting my time thinking of her now.”

“Time is never wasted when thinking of a beautiful woman,” Ivan mused, stacking the glass on a shelf with its freshly-cleaned brothers. “Perhaps she is thinking of you as well.”

Viktor took a long draw on his drink. “She moved on decades ago, sadly. Sent me a wedding invitation when it all happened but I couldn’t make myself go.”

He trailed off, remembering the letters that he had been too busy to reply to or that he had neglected to send. Perhaps if the war hadn’t intervened, perhaps if it hadn’t been long distance between them, perhaps if he hadn’t been “the man with the golden arm” he wouldn’t be reminiscing like this on a Saturday evening.

Ivan smiled apologetically at Viktor before topping off his glass. “I’m sorry, son.”

Viktor waved a hand dismissively. “Don’t be. I told you my thoughts were pointless. Last time I visited Britain, I stopped by the bookstore she frequented and still, being a hidden, unfrequented place, she was there. I saw her through the front window and she was beautiful, Ivan. She was _so beautiful_. She looked happy and I couldn’t intrude. I continued on my way.” He paused, resting his chin on his large hand and sighed. “She has children also.”

Ivan circled around the bar, a glass for himself accompanying him. Viktor continued, “I am going to the British Isles Monday for a seminar. I suppose that is what brought on all this melancholy.”

Ivan looked lost for advice, a rarity for the jolly bartender. It was not uncommon for Ivan to take on a fatherly role for drunken Quidditch players after games they won or worse, for games that they lost. Taking a different approach to the situation, he clapped Viktor on the shoulder. “There are many women out there, Viktor. As much as I would like to tell you that things will be different one day and that you will sweep your princess off her feet, you are still young and have a lot to offer whatever lady you end up wooing. I’ve got your tab tonight.”

“You really don’t need to do that, Ivan, but I appreciate the gesture. Perhaps I shouldn’t have retired; I never had time for this moping when I was on the pitch as a player rather than as coach,” Viktor said with a small chuckle. “I’ll stop by with my players after our next game. Let me know if you want tickets.”

Viktor pushed himself from the barstool, pulling his cloak over his shoulders and readjusting his glasses on his nose. He thanked the older gentleman for his company and stepped out of the bar to apparate home.

\--

With a flick of his wand, the zipper on his travel bag zipped closed. He looked around his expansive bedroom, silently hoping that if he forgot anything important it would hop out before him. Sighing, he extinguished the lights and stepped into the hallway with his bag in tow. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the closed door and trying desperately to clear his mind of Hermione Granger… or Hermione _Granger-Weasley_ , he reminded himself. Thoughts of her hadn’t left his mind since the previous night, lodging themselves into his mind even through his dreams. He thought back to others he had thought he had loved; why hadn’t Katya or Irena or Anna plagued him like the first he had loved? Why did he wake up from time to time thinking of her? Why did he peer into the crowd at the Quidditch games, hoping to see her chestnut brown eyes sparkling back up at him?

He opened his eyes and looked at his watch, muttering a few choice profanities. The portkey would be leaving from the front lawn in a matter of moments and it would be wise to be with it when it arrived at Hogsmeade.

\--

After the War, the International Quidditch Association had relocated from London to New York. Tradition being what it was, gatherings continued to be held at Queerditch Marsh, the sport’s birthing place just past the boundaries of Hogwarts. This week saw the International Quidditch Association Youth Conference, hosting young men and women from across the globe. He had been asked to lead a seminar for a small group of aspiring seekers, speaking about his career as a Quidditch prodigy and how he came to be the coach of the world’s most successful team in over a century. He wasn’t originally one for public speaking, but his transition from player to coach had coaxed him out of his introverted shell.

Twenty young men and women looked up at him through the seminar, their eyes full of hope as they took in every word he said. Each of these individuals was older than he had been when he was taken on as a reserve player, a blessing as he had only been fourteen years of age. A slight girl of sixteen was the youngest in the bunch and was said to be nearly ready to sign once she completed her schooling at Koldovstoretz. Following the lecture portion was a flying session in front of scouts from regional leagues from several different countries. Much to his chagrin, the attendees bullied him into demonstrating his world-famous _Krum Fient Roll_ , a dangerous twist (literally) on the _Wronski Fient_. Taking up his broom, he plunged towards the ground of Queerditch Marsh, pulling away at the last moment, his hair skimming the grass as he barrel-rolled out of the plunge with unimaginable skill.

Once the seminar was over for the day, he grabbed his travel bag and headed towards lodging. For convenience’s sake, he had opted to arrive in Hogsmeade the morning of the conference, staying in London the night before to visit Diagon Alley. The time change was now beginning to hit him as he stepped across the threshold to The Three Broomsticks. As he approached the lodging desk, he massaged his temples, hoping desperately to find some coffee once he set his bag down.

“Just a moment!” A blonde woman from behind the bar called to him. She bounded over to the counter, blotting a splash of Butterbeer from her daffodil robes before exchanging the rag for a fluffy white quill. “What can I do for you?”

“I haff reservations for a five-night stay, last name Krum,” he said in his heavy Bulgarian accent. The woman looked up at him, squinting in concentration.

“ _Viktor_ Krum?” she asked, only a bit unsure, as she had to have seen his reservation in the book before her. He looked a great deal different from when the area had seen him last, his frame more filled out and muscular, his eyes framed by black spectacles, and his chin lined by a neat goatee.

“Hannah Longbottom,” the woman stated as she offered him a hand to shake. She smiled like the fans he was so accustomed to, but with a great deal more dignity. “I’m a fan. I was in Harry’s year at Hogwarts.”

“Oh?” he said, unsure how to reply. “He’s doing vell, I suppose?”

“As well as he could be,” Hannah adopted a sad expression as she looked through the reservation book and checked his name. She took a key from the wall behind the counter. “He lost his best friend and brother-in-law about a year ago now. Terrible accident on the job… he was an auror. Left a wife and two children behind.”

“Give him my condolences, if you vould,” Viktor stated as Hannah handed him his room key.

“I shall,” she said. “I think you may have known him, come to think of it. Ronald Weasley?”

Viktor’s stomach sank. Hermione’s husband had been killed. He couldn’t even imagine the hurt she had been feeling. He cleared the block that had suddenly formed in his throat. “I met him vonce or tvice, yes. He vas a polite young man from vhat I remember. Vhat a terrible loss. Hermione vas a good friend of mine as vell.”

“Oh yes,” Hannah nodded. “I see her often. Her children go to Hogwarts now. I will send her your good thoughts as well. She certainly needs them.”

She offered him a polite, though still a trifle sad, smile before assigning one of the younger employees to show him to his room. Once inside, he dropped his bag and collapsed onto the bed and into a confused sleep.


	2. Reaching Acknowledgement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not one to frequent bars, Viktor ends up in one for the second time in a week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to review. I've been out of the fanfiction game for a while and would love to know that I am doing alright with this rewrite!

_"You… look stunning, Hermy-own," She had caught him breathless, but he managed to choke out a few words of compliment._

_"It's Her-my-oh-knee, Viktor," she corrected him for the millionth time, but smiled. "But thank you very much. I don't think I've ever received such a compliment from a member of the opposite sex before."_

_He was taken aback. "Vot? Boys in England can't notice a pretty vitch vhen they see vone? Boys here must be blind."_

_She blushed as he took her arm in his. "I wouldn't say that…" She trailed off and looked back at the crowd. His eyes remained focused solely on her…_

\--

He had awoken feeling like it had been weeks, though a quick gaze at his watch told him it had been only a few hours. It had been light outside when he laid down on the plush bed but now it was pitch black outside. Cursing his historical inability to adapt to time changes, he pushed himself to a seated position and felt around the covers for his glasses. Now finding his wand still tucked away in his robes, he cast light back into the small room. Though it was nearing midnight in Britain, he no longer felt like sleeping.

Perched on the edge of his bed, he thought back at the dream he had. He first remembered a funeral for a dear friend. It had been raining that day, which had seemed ironically cliché even at the time. The gray skies through the windows of the small chapel intensified the feeling of utter loss experienced by all in attendance. Sounds of sobbing underscored the words of the officiant, echoing off the gray stones of the chamber. At his final words, the crowed lined up to offer their condolences to the widow. As he approached, he reached out to her before freezing in place. She held onto the casket, sobbing and he suddenly felt very out of place. He pulled back his hand and observed the widow, her chestnut curls pinned up and fixed with a black lace veil. He was nudged gently out of the way by a young girl with voluminous red bushy hair and a younger boy with wavy brunette hair and freckles. They approached the weeping widow and she reached out, pulling them close.

Pity overwhelmed him immediately as he returned to the room above the pub. The dream had been so very vivid and real, and he almost felt like an intruder for having dreamt it. This whole situation was rather hard to digest, with his dear Hermione hurting for her own lost love. He ran a hand over his face, deciding it was time for a change of scenery.

\--

The room was mostly empty, seeing as it was a Monday night, but the inhabitants that were in attendance were typical of a weeknight crowd. A dark-featured woman in a deep green veil was sipping at a silver goblet clenched tightly amidst long red fingernails. A twenty-something couple flirted awkwardly at the bar. A table of old wizards playing a card game were seated near the door. He strode over to the bar, not caring to do much more people-watching, and sidled onto a bar stool. It was incredibly uncommon for him to end up in the bar twice in a week, particularly in a week without a match.

“Up already?” called the woman whom he had met earlier from a booth behind him. He turned to see her with the noted war hero, Neville Longbottom. Neville waved politely, and Viktor returned the gesture with a nod. Hannah took her post at the bar. “What can I get for you?”

“Just a hot chocolate, please,” he replied, running a hand through his dark hair. “Time adjustment. It takes me a vhile.”

“Oh, I know the feeling,” Hannah laughed. “Neville and I went to Australia for our honeymoon. I ended up sleeping most of the day and partying most of the night. I suppose that _is_ what a honeymoon is all about, though.”

She smiled widely at her husband, who chucked and took a drink of his Butterbeer. Hannah served Viktor a large steaming mug of wonderful-smelling chocolate before leaning on the bar. “Are you married, Viktor? I hope you don’t mind my asking.”

“No, not married,” he said, stirring the whipped cream into the chocolate with the tip of his wand. “Not easy to commit when you are on the road.”

The words were somewhat rehearsed and only somewhat true. He wasn’t quite sure why he had been discussing his personal life with anyone as of late. Perhaps this was some sort of a mid-life crisis or whatnot. Being forty-one and unmarried sounded utterly pitiful, so he added, “I’ve said time and again, who needs love vhen you’re a Qvidditch player. The game is your lover, after all.”

Neville and Hannah gave him the response he had aimed for, light chuckling, and he relaxed slightly, allowing himself to smile. Neville sunk back into the cushions a little more and absentmindedly swirled the contents of his class. “Marriage isn’t for everyone. Too many people get married just because they think they are supposed to do so. If a person is happy on their own, that should be enough for everyone else. I remember it was a bigger deal for the press before Hannah and I tied the knot than it was for either of us.”

Viktor nodded, taking a sip of the cooling chocolate. Feeling like the conversation was getting a little too personal now, he turned the subject. “Neville, yes? You are professor at Hogvarts now?”

\--

It had been a while since he had worn his Vratsa Vultures Seeker robes and it was no lie that they were a bit tight, though not in a bad way. Since he had retired from playing, he had been able to train and build his muscles instead of keeping his frame purposefully lean and more aerodynamic. Boots pleasantly covered in mud and grass and morale high, he landed his broom back in Hogsmeade. The second day of the International Quidditch Association Youth Conference had gone very well. He had been able to coach two different teams throughout the day as they played through scrimmage matches. Working with the next generation of Quidditch stars was a very rewarding experience for him. Although he was being very well paid for the week of work, he noted to himself that he would have been willing to do the work for free.

Now, he was looking forward to changing back into his regular robes. He attracted a great deal of attention in his Quidditch garb, particularly with his broom still in hand. After reluctantly signing the bra strap of a witch about his age that claimed to have seen him in his first World Cup, he pushed his way into The Three Broomsticks and took the stairs to his room. He pulled on a set of navy blue robes after a quick shower, put on his glasses, and left his room in search of dinner.

The hallway was empty, as was the stairwell, but the restaurant was full of people. He noticed a group from the conference at a large table in the corner of the room, and two of the seekers tried to flag him over to sit with them. He waved curtly in their direction, and continued on his way to find a menu. Nearly to the counter, a goldenrod-clothed arm reached out to grab his arm.

“Pardon my reach, but someone stopped in earlier hearing that you were here,” Hannah said cheerily, balancing a stack of dishes on her other arm. “I’m sure you would rather have dinner with this person than a group of school kids.”

“Really? Who?” Viktor inquired, crossing his arms playfully and looking at Hannah expectantly.

“This person is in the back room and is itching to see you,” Hannah hinted, setting a tray down in front of the young couple from the previous night, who was now snogging in a booth. She then flashed a toothy grin at the Quidditch star, nudging him with her free hand in the direction of the back room. “Go and I will come take your order in a minute.”

Viktor walked into the small back room, which was lined with portraits and potted plants. The evening sun streamed in through an open window, casting a golden light throughout. He spotted her immediately, staring out the window dreamily, the sunlight dancing off her curly brown hair.

“Hermione?”

 


	3. Reaching Familiarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the shortness of the chapters, but they are actually slightly longer than the original work. I intend on these getting longer as I continue through with my rewrite.

_"I didn't vant to tell you so soon, but it… it vas true vhat I said," Viktor said as he caught up with Hermione in the hallway. She hadn't been in the library as often lately and he hadn't gotten the chance to explain the second task with her since… well, what he had said to her, anyway._

_"Viktor, I…" She stopped, clutching her Transfiguration book closer to her. "I care about you too. This is all just going so fast."_

_"I know, it's going fast for me too and like I said, I didn't vant it to be out like that so suddenly." He looked at his hands nervously. The last thing he wanted was to scare her away. She was the only girl he had ever feared for in that sense; usually he couldn't scare the girls away with a fire-breathing dragon and the promise to tie them up under a lake… oh wait…_

_"Herm-own-ninny, follow me?" He could spot the she-vultures coming from one direction and took her hurriedly in another. They walked quickly down another, less populated hallway and then into another deserted side-passageway._

_"I'm really sorry if I frightened you vith that is vhat I vas trying to say," he said slowly, trying to get the whole meaning out. Her eyes remained on him, waiting to continue, which he did, blushing. "My accent gets in vay. You mind if I show you instead?"_

_Hermione shook her head, a small glimmer of mischief in her honey eyes. Viktor took her chin in his hand and brought her face to his, kissing her lightly on her lips and pulling back just as quickly. She opened her eyes again slowly and smiled at him so sweetly that he wanted to kiss her again, but didn't. Kissing her again would be stealing, not by him, but she may steal part of his soul instead._

\--

“Hermione?” he stuttered and she looked up at him. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

She stood from the table and came to hug her old friend. She hadn’t changed at all from the time he had seen her through the window at the bookstore. Her hair was pulled into a half-back and her eyes carried the same light that he remembered so vividly. She was more filled out than she had been in her teen years; carrying two children had beautified her more than he could have imagined. As he held her close, he felt like the seventeen-year-old kid standing soaked by the lake with a shivering girl in his arms. She wasn’t shivering now. On the contrary, she seemed to be radiating warmth and all the tingly feelings that he couldn’t repress. He felt himself smiling wider and more genuinely than he could remember.

“I saw in the paper this morning that you were in town,” she said as they pulled apart. “Someone got a picture of you showing off in front of a bunch of kids. I didn’t know they named a move after you.”

Viktor laughed, “Only the craziest tend to get a move named after them. I vas bullied into doing that move yesterday. It is only my luck it vould get me in the paper.”

“I couldn’t believe it,” she said breathlessly. “I haven’t… we haven’t even spoken since…”

“Since shortly after the var’s conclusion,” he finished her sentence for her. “I haff missed you greatly, Hermione.”

“You say my name so nicely, Viktor Krum. I am impressed,” Hermione said, setting her arms akimbo with a large smile painted across her features. “What else has changed about you since the last time we saw each other?”

“Vell, if you haff the time, ve could sit and talk?” he asked, but quickly added. “But if not, I understand. You are a busy voman, I am sure.”

“I think I already made the time,” she replied, retaking her seat by the window. “I see you are wearing glasses now. That’s certainly a change.”

“Bludger to the face,” he said frankly, taking off the frames and turning them over in his large hands. Hermione cringed in the seat across from him. He chuckled, “Not as big of a deal as it sounds. The ball broke my left brow and the bone damaged vhatever it vas. Long story short, I need glasses to see out of this eye.”

He pointed to his left eye and she looked forward, looking for a mark of the accident. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“More than okay, I vould say. Optometrist says I vould haff needed them anyvay. I just saved myself a trip to the office,” he insisted, replacing the frames on his angular face. Hermione passed him a cup of tea that she had ordered while she waited for him. She stirred her own tea and then replaced the silver spoon delicately on her napkin. He cleared his throat. “Other than that, I haff not changed much. Retired three years ago.”

“You are looking very well,” she noted as he added a spoonful of sugar to his tea. “Are you married, Viktor? I never heard mention in Harry and Ron’s Quidditch talk, but I never listened well.”

“No, I am not,” he said shortly, swallowing a rather hot gulp of Darjeeling. “Your friend told me about Ronald. I am very sorry.”

She gave him a sad smile. “I am too. He was an incredible man and an even better father. Hugo and Rose just went back to school last week. It’s been a tough year in our household, but we are slowly healing.”

“I cannot even imagine,” Viktor said as he leaned back in his chair. “I haff been to a lot of funerals, as I think ve all have, but it is a whole vorld of difference vhen it is a spouse. My father vas a vidower. My mother passed several years before him and he vas never the same.”

Hermione sipped at her tea and looked blankly at the table. He studied her for a moment before he noticed tears beginning to make their way down her freckled cheeks.

“I never thought I would lose him, Viktor,” she said, rubbing at her eyes furiously. “I never thought it would happen to him. Being an Auror is such a dangerous job, but I could never have been ready. There was no warning.”

Viktor reached out a hand and rubbed her shoulder. She sobbed into a handkerchief procured from her purse.

“Hermione,” he said softly. “Novone is ever ready to lose someone they love. Novone can ever be prepared to see them go and sometimes,” he paused as she dabbed the fabric at her eyes and peered into his of deepest brown, “sometimes ve cannot ever see ourselves moving on, but eventually it stops hurting.”

He felt like he was muttering half-truths. It was true that he never thought he would get over losing his mother or father and eventually the pain was replaced with a kind of dull ache and fond memories. When it came to affairs of the heart, he had never truly gotten over losing her to time and the arms of another. He noticed that his hand was still resting on her shoulder and he removed it. She smiled as best she could, given her tear-streaked face.

“Would you like to walk around town with me, Viktor? I’d really appreciate the company.”


End file.
